Travis:
Wyatt, could you maybe talk to Marco about him always doing my face? You remember in the "What?" video I established the [makes face]
Travis:
face? Well ever since then, every time you see Marco, he's doing the [makes face]
Travis:
face and it's MINE. You look at him on TRL: "Hi Carson! [makes face]
Travis:
" You look at him on the Kids' Choice Awards: "This is ours? Thanks! [makes face]
Travis:
" And then right here on the cover of Seventeen Magazine: "Hi little girl, beauty secrets? [makes face]
Travis:
" It's my face... it's MY face!
Marco:
Uh, hey Travis, am I uh, [makes face]
Marco:
doin' your face, 'cause [makes face]
Marco:
god forbid I [makes face]
Marco:
do your face 'cause it's [makes face]
Marco:
such a good face! [Travis jumps Marco]
Wyatt:
[Breaks them apart] Eye contact. Hand. [slaps Marco's hand]
Wyatt:
Eye contact. Hand. [slaps Travis' hand]
Wyatt:
Now, when we land, I will talk to the choreographer, and she will get you a new face.
Marco:
Awh, too bad his mama couldn't give him a good face!
Professor G.H. Dorr:
Madam, or rather, mesdames, you must accept our apologies for not bein' able to perform, for, as you see, we are shorthanded. Gawain is still at work, and we could no more play with one part tacit than a horse could canter shy one leg. Perhaps I could offer, as a poor but ready substitute, a brief poetic recital. Though I do not pretend to any great oratorical skills, I would be happy to present, with your ladies' permission, verse from the unquiet mind of Mr. Edgar Allan Poe. Ladies, thy beauty is to me like those Nicean barks of yore, that gently, o'er a perfumed sea, the weary, wayworn wanderer bore, to his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, thy Naiad airs have brought me home to the glory that was Greece and the grandeur that was Rome.
Narrator (Old Sayuri):
The winter I turned fifteen I saw the chairman again, but that wasn't the only surprise fate brought me that season. Along with the snow came a most unexpected visitor.
Mother:
Why is she here? Chiyo, Chiyo, open the gate! [motioning for her to open the door and straigtening herself before going to her table]
Mameha:
Now that your beloved granny has gone you have no need for a maid.
Mother:
I would never question the great Mameha, but you could choose anyone in the Hanamachi.
Mameha:
You flatter me, truly. [bowering her head in compliment]
Mother:
I would give you my pumpkin if she weren't already tied to Hatsumomo.
Mameha:
Please I would never dream of asking
Mother:
Besides, I can always sell Chiyo to Mrs. Tetsuyo. [smoking her cigerette]
Mameha:
With your eye for beauty and nose for talent,surely you can see what a terrible waste that would be.
Mother:
If you were not the kind hearted Geisha I know you to be, then I might think that you werescheming against Hatsumomo. [looking towards the door where Chiyo and Pumpkin are listening]
Mameha:
Then I'm grateful Mrs. Nita that you don't have a suspicious mind.
Mother:
Perhaps you can pique my interest with... your offer.
Mameha:
I will cover Chiyo's schooling, all her expenses, until after her debut. [proposing as she slides her cup across the table]
Mother:
Now I am confident that you are teasing. [pouring more tea]
Mameha:
I could not be more sincere. If Chiyo has not repaid her debt within six months after her debut.
Mother:
[scoffing] Impossible, too little time!
Mameha:
Then I will pay you twice over. [uping the offer]
Mother:
What...? No Geisha could ever... [pushing the tea towards Mameha]
Mameha:
And I am certain you will not object to one trivial condition.
Mother:
Uh yes...? [puts down pipe, listening intently]
Mameha:
If Chiyo erases her debt in the time allowed, You will not have any part in her future earnings.
Mother:
[smirks in acceptance]
[Adam, Lucy and Lucy’s mother are all driving in Adam jaguar after taking a hike in a park]
Peggy Owens:
I could get used to this car. Did you tell her the story, by the way?
Adam:
No, I didn't.
Lucy Owens:
What?
Peggy Owens:
All the interesting things you find out when you're out on a mountain stroll.
Lucy Owens:
Tell me what?
Peggy Owens:
Can we tell her? A very simple lovely story. Even though he was very young when his mummy and daddy died, Adam always remembered, as a little fella, that when they went for walks they used to pass by this big fancy car sales place and his dad had a big thing about this particular car, a Jaguar.
Adam:
"Just look at that Jag," he'd say. I thought it must be the most wonderful thing in the world.
Peggy Owens:
His dad was always promising his mum that when they had a bit of money to splash out, that he'd buy her one. Do you know what this little beauty did? Years after, when he turned eighteen and got the bit of money that was left to him he used it all to buy this car to remember them by.
Lucy Owens:
Adam, why didn't you tell me? Hmm?
Adam:
I don't know.
Lucy Owens:
Oh, my.
[first lines]
Erica:
[voiceover, doing her radio show] I'm Erica Bain. And as *you* know, I walk the city. I bitch and moan about it. I walk and watch and listen, a witness to all the beauty and ugliness that is disappearing from our beloved city. Last week took me to the gray depths of the East River where Dmitri Panchenko swims his morning laps, like he has every morning since the 1960s. And today I walked by the acres of scaffolding outside what used to be the Plaza Hotel. And I thought about Eloise. Remember Kay Thompson's Eloise? Eloise who lived in the Plaza Hotel with her dog Weenie, and her parents were always away, and her English nanny who had eight hair pins made out of bones. That Eloise. The adored brat of my childhood. [indistinct overdubs for a few lines here]
Erica:
... li'l punk kids... Sid Vicious spewing beer from his teeth in the Chelsea Hotel... Andy Warhol, his sunglasses reflecting... Edgar Allan Poe, freeing live monkeys from the crates of a crumbling schooner on the oily slips of South Street. Stories of a city that is disappearing before our eyes, its people swept over the Williamsburg of those stories. So what are we left of those stories? Are we going to have to construct an imaginary city to house our memories? Because when you love something, every time a bit goes, you lose a piece of yourself. Where's Eloise going to sleep tonight? Can you hear her ghost wandering around the collapsing corridors of her beloved Plaza, trying to find her nanny's room? Calling out to the construction workers, in a voice that nobody hears, "Has anyone seen my turtle, Skipperdee?" This is Erica Bain, and you've been listening to Streetwalk, on WKNW.
Gina:
I'm finished speaking to both of you okay? You're both fucking insane. You want to know what your problem is? MTV, Playboy, and Madison fucking Avenue. Yes. Let me explain something to you, ok? Girls with big tits have big asses. Girls with little tits have little asses. That's the way it goes. God doesn't fuck around; he's a fair guy. He gave the fatties big, beautiful tits and the skinnies little tiny niddlers. It's not my rule. If you don't like it, call him. Hey Mitch. Thank you. [Looking at a porn magazine]
Gina:
Oh, guys, look what we have here. Look at this, your favorite. Oh, you like that?
Tommy:
I could go along with that.
Gina:
Yeah, that's nice right? Well, it doesn't exist ok. Look at the hair. The hair is long, it's flowing, it's like a river. Well, it's a fucking weave ok? And the tits, please! I could hang my overcoat on them. Tits by design were invented to be suckled by babies. Yes, they're purely functional. These are silicon city. And look, my favorite, the shaved pubis. Pubic hair being too unruly and all. Very key. This is a mockery, this is a sham, this is bullshit. Implants, collagen, plastic, capped teeth, the fat sucked out, the hair extended, the nose fixed, the bush shaved... These are not real women, all right? They're beauty freaks. And they make all us normal women with our wrinkles, our puckered boobs, hi bob, and our cellulite feel somehow inadequate. Well I don't buy it, all right? But you fucking mooks, if you think that if there's a chance in hell that you'll end up with one of these women, you don't give us real women anything approaching a commitment. It's pathetic. I don't know what you think you're going to do. You're going to end up eighty-years old, drooling in some nursing home, then you're going to decide, it's time to settle down, get married, have kids? What, are you going to find a cheerleader? Charge it Mitch.
Tommy:
I think you're over simplifying.
Gina:
Oh eat me. Look at Paul. With his models on the wall, his dog named Elle McPherson. He's insane. He's obsessed. You're all obsessed. If you had an once of self-esteem, of self-worth, of self-confidence, you would realize that as trite as it may sound, beauty is truly skin-deep. And you know what, if you ever did hook one of those girls, I guarantee you'd be sick of her.
Tommy:
Yeah, I suppose I'd get sick of her after about, what, twenty or thirty years?
Gina:
Get over yourself. Thank you Mitch. Say hello to Gertrude.
Tommy:
What?
Gina:
No mater how perfect the nipple, how supple the thigh, unless there is some other shit going on in the relationship, besides the physical, it's going to get old, ok? And you guys, as a gender, have got to get a grip. Otherwise, the future of the human race is in jeopardy.
Willie Conway:
What was that?
Tommy:
I don't know, but a great ass.
Willie Conway:
Nice tits. Come on let's go.
